


Satellites

by scioubeez



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Hanahaki Disease, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Red String of Fate, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Time Loop, Timeline Shenanigans, Timelines, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:27:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26842885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scioubeez/pseuds/scioubeez
Summary: Going around in circles, always meeting when it’s too late.[AU series - every chapter plays with a different AU trope]Heads up, anime onlies: it’s chock full of manga spoilers here
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s), Reiner Braun/Porco Galliard
Comments: 22
Kudos: 99





	1. 01 - soulmate AU - last words written on your body

**Author's Note:**

> so this is where i dump every single au i can write with my dear gallireis  
> mind the tags and the beginning notes for warnings and such! hope you enjoy!!
> 
> 01 - soulmate AU: last words your soulmate says to you are written on your body  
> [canon major character death, canon-typical violence]

Reiner's eyes snap open as he wakes up in the middle of the night, a cold shiver running down his spine.

Something's wrong with his throat: he feels like he's swallowed cotton during the night, his tongue resting limp and heavy in his mouth. He forces himself to cough, trying not to wake up anyone else: the discomfort is still there, though, so he rolls out of bed – trying not to bump into Bertolt's restless sleeping form – and makes a beeline for the door, hoping that gulping down water will bring him some relief.

He's just turned around the corner when he spots Ymir: she's very sleepy, he can tell, but spares him a smirk when she notices he's in his pajamas as well.

“Who are you covering for?” she asks, crossing her arms. Reiner feels a sudden itch behind his left ear and scratches at it insistently, much to Ymir's amusement.

“Ah... no one. I woke up feeling like shit,” he answers eventually, pointing to his throat. Ymir's lips tremble as she tries not to yawn, and she nods, eyelids fluttering closed as she rubs at her face.

“Christa's gone to fetch some food for Sasha. I'm supposed to cover for her,” she explains, words slurring on her tongue. Reiner can't stop scratching at his ear, so Ymir's words don't register completely: she notices, though, still observant no matter how sleepy she is. “What's up with that?”

“With what.”

“Your ear. You're going to bleed if you keep scratching at it like an animal. Did something bite you?”

“Who knows,” he grumbles, trying not to scratch it anymore. “Just take a look at it, please. It's driving me crazy.”

“Here,” she sighs, and Reiner uncovers his ear. He shifts sideways so that Ymir can see whatever the hell's happened to his ear, standing up on her toes, and she pushes him around until his face is lit up by the moonlight. Ymir tugs at his ear, moving it around as Reiner protests weakly, but then freezes, only to burst out laughing for no good reason.

“Keep it down!” hisses Reiner, swatting her arm away as Ymir steps back, covering her mouth with both hands. “What's so funny anyway?”

“Ah, sorry, sorry,” she wheezes, rubbing at her eyes energetically, “I forgot, it's August already.”

Reiner freezes at Ymir's words. There's only one explanation for all this. His soulmate's last words to him must have appeared on his body: it's his fifteenth birthday today, precisely when it's bound to happen. He can't believe he forgot about it.

“...oh,” he grunts, earning another snort from Ymir.

“Happy birthday, I guess. Want me to tell you what's written behind your ear? Whoever it is, I like them already.”

Reiner squeezes his eyes shut, inhaling and exhaling deeply, counting his blessings. “I'm going to ask Bert in the morning.”

“Hah? You don't trust me?” she spits, though she sounds way too overjoyed by the whole situation. “I've read it first. I'm going to tell him before you have a chance to talk to him.”

“Ymir, I sleep next to him, how could you even-”

“Well, isn't that wonderful? Congratulations!”

“Ymir,” sighs Reiner, the itch coming back in full force, “please, just tell me if it's visible enough-”

“Nah, it's right in the fold, and pretty damn small, too. You've got to know where to look,” she reassures him, words still brisk and laced with sarcasm, but Reiner appreciates it despite everything.

“Fine... thank you.”

“No problem. I wonder where Christa went? She's not back yet, I'm starting to worry.”

Reiner studies her before reiterating, “you're not worried.”

Ymir clicks her tongue. “No, I'm really not. I'm just annoyed because I could be sleeping right next to her now but no, she's busy playing goddess. So I'm out here, freezing my arse off.”

“Right. I'm going back inside,” nods Reiner, offering her a shrug, which Ymir mirrors immediately in a mocking fashion.

“Yeah, you go back inside with your boyfriend. Are you sure you want to wait until morning?”

“...I'll wait, yeah. Thank you.”

*

He must be the same age as her.

The first thing she notices is how hard he's shivering: his eyes are wide, blue and round and big, his nose upturned, his mouth parted... he's afraid, and Ymir suppresses the spontaneous reflex of rolling her eyes.

It is kind of hard, too, with how much they've drugged her.

_Just get on with it, will you? Keep it short._

He shivers even harder when an officer walks up to him, holding a syringe with gloved hands, followed by another. This one's holding a fully loaded rifle, pointed right at the boy's nape, just in case.

_Nothing's changed after so many years, that's just great._

Ymir can almost feel the pinprick as the boy is injected, a phantom memory that makes her try to curl up in herself, her hands hanging limp from chained wrists. A flash of blinding, searing light, and she bows her head, a chilling scream echoing in the underground chamber.

_Make it quick, please just make it quick, please,_ she chants to herself, though her eyes crack open just slightly, wishing her dress would be just that shorter to spot the small _ymir where are you going_ scribbled right above her right knee.

“Sorry, Historia,” she sobs, eyes watering as the boy- now a Titan- clutches her in his hand, opening his mouth.

*

“...I was the better man to the end.”

Reiner screams – he calls his name, though Porco can't hear it, because he's still inside the Armored Titan. He _feels_ it, instead, the pinprick at his nape, he sees a small, lighter skinned hand caressing Ymir's knee, her own name scribbled on it, then he's looking right behind Reiner's ear, Ymir's hand tugging at it forcefully to make out the impossibly small letters seared into his skin there, and a sob breaks out of his throat.

Falco's noticed him: he rushes towards Porco, with the mindless urgency of a newborn Titan, ground breaking and opening up as he runs, drool flying out of his open mouth- but Porco can only see Reiner back there, hand outstretched towards him, he can feel the way he screamed for him, calling his name, the way his skin itches to the point of burning right where his own name is imprinted behind his right ear, perfectly mirroring Reiner's soulmark.

He can feel Ymir's voice echoing in his head, mirroring his heavy breathing, he can feel his own hand clenching around him- though it's Falco- and he squeezes his eyes shut, a blinding, searing pain exploding in his whole body... then he doesn't feel anything anymore.

*

_“...what does that mean anyway, Reiner? The better man to the end?”_

_“Beats me. At least yours is pretty clear.”_

_Ymir grins, her smile lighting up her whole face. “I always knew it was Historia, but it's so damn satisfying to get the proper confirmation. Even though it hurts like hell.” She's quick to hide how fast her eyes are watering, as she turns around, so that Reiner and Bertolt can't see her. “Well, we know it's a man. Maybe it's Bertolt. Is it you?”_

_Bertolt clears his throat, and Ymir knows that he's blushing violently, she doesn't even have to check for confirmation. “I- I don't know... they sound like harsh words. I would never say that to him.”_

_Ymir doesn't look, again, because she knows Reiner's hand is covering Bertolt's. “It's not like we've got time to find our soulmates, right?” she jokes then, suppressing a shiver._

_“...they're going to be here soon, Ymir. You can still go back if you want,” murmurs Reiner, but Ymir's mind is settled._

_“She's said her last words to me already. Besides,” she exclaims, overly enthusiastic as she turns around, both Reiner and Bertolt looking at her with wide eyes, “you've got to say your last words to each other, too, someday. Don't you?”_

*

Reiner's left ear throbs insistently, his whole body shaking, as Falco's mindless Titan swallows what's left of Porco.

The searing pain he feels at the side of his head is nothing compared to the unbridled rage rippling through his whole body, as he turns around, fist clenching and ready to blow Eren's head _off_.


	2. 02 - hanahaki disease AU - coughing up flowers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 02 - hanahaki disease AU - coughing up flowers because of unrequited love  
> [implied major character death, canon divergence, graphic depictions of violence, vomiting]
> 
> purple hyacinth = a deep feeling of sadness, asking for forgiveness, symoblizes deep regret.

His mouth is stained with blood, roots crawling up the inside of his throat: it's about to happen.

Coughing, again, and again, wheezing, sobbing – a waterfall of small, crumpled, bloody purple hyacinths erupting from his mouth, clogging his lungs, tearing at his tongue and lips as they force their way out, with no end in sight.

_Please, forgive me._

*

Karina finds a single purple petal under Reiner's pillow later that morning.

She ignores the jolt of worry that reverberates through her body as she picks up the petal, and wonders aloud, “a secret admirer, perhaps?”, sounding idiotic even to her own ears.

It's not common: a disease commonly found in unsanitary households, an illness with a weird, exotic name that surely has nothing to do with the great nation of Marley: Hanahaki, they called it, she remembers when her neighbours' daughter was coughing up dark red dahlias every day until she choked on them, all those years ago.

There was talk of a Marleyan boy in the army who wouldn't spare her a glance, and how much she suffered, her affections doomed by what was simply the norm: Marleyans and Eldians couldn't be together. Karina always knew that very well.

But she never coughed up flowers, because she was good, they were all good, weren't they? She accepted her fate, and Reiner made it better.

Reiner is good. Reiner is the best son she could ever ask for, and he definitely isn't coughing up flowers, that's for sure.

Before the sun sets on the horizon, Karina throws the purple petal away, taking exceptional care in crushing it to pieces before she does.

*

“How are you today?”

Reiner coughs into his hand once, before answering. “Same as always.”

“Hm.”

Something prickles at the back of his throat: he forces out another bout of coughing, for good measure, hoping it'll go away. Zeke keeps staring at him, quietly blowing on his coffee not to burn his tongue.

“If you're 'always' like this, then you're not feeling very good, are you?” he sighs then, as Reiner's coughing fit just won't stop. “I'll go fetch a glass of water before you die on us.”

“I'm not-” another coughing fit, this one raspier than the last, “I'm not dying on anyone... I'll go get it myself. Thanks.”

“It's nothing,” murmurs Zeke, his interest apparently waning by the minute. “I'd tell Galliard if I were you.”

That's when Reiner freezes, no answer in sight to Zeke's words. He doesn't look at him, eyes shielded by foggy glasses, his coffee apparently still too hot.

“He's not stupid. He's going to figure it out sooner or later.”

Reiner grimaces, tongue assaulted by the taste of iron and the texture of crumpled up petals. “It's between the two of us, not you.”

This time, Zeke laughs, dry and bitter. “You never did like me much, Reiner. It's a pity.”

He walks away before another surge of petals try to crawl out of his throat, and Zeke finally drinks his beloved coffee, eyes following Reiner as he disappears around the corner of the building.

*

Galliard's eyes are a mystery to Reiner: he's perfected the art of hiding his smirk whenever people poke fun at him for being an open book, and wearing his heart on his sleeve.

Confident in the knowledge of being the only one who truly understands him, Reiner keeps these small moments to himself. Galliard is not easy to read, on the contrary: that's what he wants you to think. According to the others, he's either angry or irritated, except when he takes orders, then he's responsible and level-headed, and it's frankly insulting how they can reduce him to this.

The more he tried to study his eyes, the light reflecting off them, the length of his eyelashes, the small birthmark at the corner of his eyelid- the more Reiner fell for him, his harshness and quiet laugh and the way he holds himself, the weight in his gaze whenever they cross, how Marcel's name sounds on his lips, the smell of his worn jacket, and how Reiner's own name rolls over the entire length of his tongue before coming out, tangled up in resentment and curiosity and something that Reiner can't quite put his finger on.

It makes no sense, really, to fall for him of all people.

But then again, it makes no sense to cough up flowers either.

*

A terrified scream, calling for him- then, a waterfall of red and purple.

Porco falls to his knees, hands clenching Reiner's shoulders as he doubles down coughing, throwing up a worrying amount of petals, laced together by thick ropes of dead blood.

“No,” he whimpers, “no, no, no,” then chants, like a prayer, like he's begging Reiner to stop, like he could just _want_ to stop. His blunt nails dig into Reiner's shoulders, he shakes him, a curse dying on his lips as another wave of flowers splatters down on his knees and thighs.

“It's not for me, is it,” he murmurs, voice trembling, shaken, and Reiner grabs his forearms, holding for dear life, now unable to stop, “it's not for me- all this, right? You're kidding me, you can't-”

“-Galliard,” sobs Reiner, knuckles turning white with effort, “don't-”

“Shut the _fuck_ up,” he wails, interrupting him- now Porco himself is crying, little and pathetic and clinging to Reiner Braun of all people, as the distant stomping draws near, second by second, as a flattened wasteland lies behind them, the army of Colossal Titans crushing everything in their wake. “You should have told me before all of this ever happened! What were you thinking?”

Before he can even begin to answer, Reiner throws up again- this time there's _roots_ coming out of his mouth, there's strands of flesh, a couple of teeth... Porco can't bear to look any longer.

“Stop it!” he screams, holding Reiner close to him in a terrified half-hug as he spills blood all over his uniform, now unable to talk anymore. “Just stop it, _stop dying_ , stop it now! We need you to save everyone, we can't do it without your-”

The ground trembles, a low rumble that grows louder, and louder, the smell of death all around them. Porco can't bear it, not like this.

“Please, please stop it,” he tries again, holding onto Reiner, his whole body shaking, “we have to fight back, we have to save everyone...”

Reiner has stopped coughing now, but there's a slow, dark trickle of blood rolling down his jaw and neck. It doesn't look like it'll stop anytime soon. Porco holds the back of Reiner's head, eyes wide as the Colossals get impossibly closer.

“...I love you.”

Reiner shivers in his arms.

“You don't,” he wheezes, voice broken, more blood trickling down his lips. “That's how it is...”

They both close their eyes, tears and blood and purple hyacinths flowing together freely, until everything ends.

*

“Please, forgive me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...maybe next time i'll come up with a light-hearted au  
> maybe  
> ...enjoy?? if you can (i can)


	3. 03 - time loop AU - life after death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 03 - time loop AU - reliving the same period of time all over again, after death  
> [implied major character death, canon divergence, graphic depictions of violence, implied suicide]

When he wakes up, he finds his legs – shorter, thinner - still attached to his body.

Porco feels small. He stretches, his body – definitely smaller and lighter – aching all over: when he rolls out of bed he stops just short of shouting obscenities out loud, courtesy of Marcel, who walks in with an amiable smile on his face, toothbrush in hand and all.

The world is smaller, everything is smaller, colours are brighter, and Marcel is alive, and- and he's putting his red armband on, his _warrior_ armband, and Porco has to bite back tears as soon as he sees it.

He may be confused beyond compare, but he definitely knows what day it is, now. Is he dreaming? What does he know. It's not like he ever died before, maybe this is what happens then. Reliving one of the worst days of his life, over and over. Maybe that's what it is.

Marcel asks, kind and comforting and warm, what is wrong with him: Porco remembers everything all too well, when it happened all those years ago he just pouted, swatting his hand away, refusing to hug him one – last – time before his departure.

But now Porco _knows_ , and that's why he hugs his brother back, holding him tight, and it hurts to let him go knowing full well what will happen. If Marcel notices something off about him, then he has the decency not to point it out. No surprises here, really: Marcel truly was the best of the best.

They walk together to the harbour, Porco too taken aback by the vivid quality of his weird dream, or afterlife; there are too many details here, things he didn't remember, the complexity of smells and taste and how it feels like he's truly _living_.

He'll worry about it later: for now, he just wants to see how it'll go.

The chosen warriors are all together, lined up like unknowing sacrifices: just one of them will come back after five years, and he's the only one Porco can focus on, now.

Reiner is the shortest boy in the group: he's shaped like a rectangle, Porco notices, almost swimming in the coat he was given- it was his mother's, a detail that Porco didn't remember, but now does, for some reason. It _is_ him, smaller and thinner and with a face so round it's uncanny, Porco's eyes used to the sharpness of his jaw, covered in stubble. He's a literal child now, not looking boyish like Marcel or Bertolt do, and missing that grown-up attitude that Annie sports better than everyone else Porco's ever met, and it chills him to the bone.

His brother sacrificed a literal _child_ to protect him.

Reiner doesn't even look at him- why would he? Porco remembers all too well how he's treated him in the past, how things never truly changed, and he doesn't blame him. And he'll try to ignore how his body instinctively shifts forward as they turn their back on the whole of Liberio, bidding their goodbyes, not knowing a thing.

He almost calls for them, for Marcel, for Bertolt and Annie, even for Reiner- but he stops, because this is a dream, and things don't change. They never change.

Everything stays the same.

Until he comes back, that is.

Porco can't find it in him to blame Reiner, now. He's still cold towards him, of course: but he can't force himself to be as unpleasant as he was back then. There's something in him that just _stops_ working. Reiner glares at him, expecting something: an outburst of rage, a well-aimed punch to the face, who knows, but none of that ever comes.

He always knew his brother would never come back: maybe that's why he never speaks out of turn with Reiner, now.

They go on missions together, both completely silent, where once there was sarcasm, words dripping with hatred, actual fistfights – just like that one time, Porco remembers it somewhat fondly – now there's nothing. It's haunting.

He'd never imagined that he'd be reliving his life after death. Though it makes sense. Maybe death doesn't even exist.

One day, Reiner snaps. He blocks him in the hallway of the hospital, after he's recovered from his injuries after perhaps the hundredth mission without even going back home, he plants both hands on Porco's shoulders and stares at him, right in the eye, pushing him gently against the wall to prevent him from escaping.

Porco's breath catches in his throat. This never happened, why is it happening now? Can things change to this degree? He should have known sooner, then- he should have stopped Marcel-

“Why aren't you saying anything?” he whispers, voice hoarse and eyes wide open, inquisitive, the bright amber of his iris now hollow and cold. “Why?”

“...I've got nothing to say,” murmurs Porco, simply, and it angers Reiner, to the point he grabs him tighter and _slams_ him back against the wall, again.

“You hate me,” he spits, voice shaking with exertion and who knows what else, and Porco can't stand to look at him like this, can't wrap his head around what is happening: Reiner burst his bubble, and he feels stupid and useless, just sitting there like a ghost, talking with ghosts, being interrogated by one just now. “You hate me because Marcel never came back and it's all my fault, so you hate me. Say you hate me.”

Everything has to be meaningless because he _did_ die, so there's no point in going further, is it?

“I don't. I don't hate you,” he answers, simply, waiting for Reiner's reaction with bated breath. He wants to know how further it will go, how faithful this dream-like place truly is.

Reiner lets go of him, then falls to his knees, planting his forehead in the middle of Porco's stomach, and dissolves in a fit of sobs as he shivers all over, a full-on panic attack shaking him from the inside.

Before he can process what happened, Porco pushes him back and runs away, trying not to think how Reiner just let himself fall down, and how Porco can still hear his sobbing as he rounds the corner, so he goes faster, and faster, until he's out of breath.

Eren Jaeger destroys Liberio.

There's frantic talk of the Armored's shell lying right in front of the statue, in the middle of the main square – Porco can't bear to listen.

A sharp pain shoots through him as the Attack Titan grabs him, tears him apart, opening its enormous maw as Porco allows himself to fly off the Jaw's nape, right into the Attack Titan's mouth-

*

He wakes up late, Marcel's already wearing his warrior armband, he says something about how they're going to be late for his departure; Porco just stares at nothing in particular, hiding beneath the blanket, shaking all over.

No, he doesn't want to say goodbye to him, he whines: Marcel laughs, Marcel doesn't know he's going to die as soon as he steps on that island. Marcel doesn't know that no one will even try to save him, Marcel doesn't know that Reiner is going to run away like a helpless coward, and Marcel doesn't know that he's brought all of this upon himself- if he'd never tried to protect him then Porco would have inherited the Armored Titan, he would have protected his brother no matter what, he knows everything now, so why can't he go back before that, to set things right?

All of them, they know nothing, and Porco knows way too much.

He suspects that living through this day again will break him, the next time- will there be a next time, even? Porco himself knows nothing, despite everything that's happening ever since Falco ate him.

Porco is tired, he doesn't even look at his brother or Reiner or the others in the eye, as they leave, and he goes back to bed quietly that afternoon, a sickness in his stomach that just won't go away.

Everything stays the same.

Except Porco actually punches Reiner square in the face as he comes back.

The resentment and hate he'd once felt now courses through Porco, again, he's fueled by them, and he's even more cruel with Reiner than he usually was. There's a lot more fighting than he'd like to admit, none of them pull their punches, because now Reiner reacts, the malice in Porco's words and action is just too much to bear, and that's also why he cracks so soon, just a few months after his return.

“What's your problem,” growls Reiner, shoving Porco away from him, “don't you ever get tired of doing this?”

“Doing what,” spits back Porco, shoving Reiner harder, gritting his teeth.

“You've been at it ever since I came back, stop it now before we kill each other.”

Porco feels the insides of his stomach on fire. “So you want to kill me now?”

“No,” laughs Reiner, bitter and devastated, hints of a growing stubble on his jaw. “I'm afraid you're going to do that sooner or later.”

“Maybe I should,” growls back Porco before thinking, then turns away, and never comes back, again: a classic between the two of them.

Reiner dies again in Liberio, and Porco spits curses right in Eren Jaeger's face as his Titan swallows him whole.

*

He's been through this so many times he lost count.

He's seen his brother leave him so many times it hardly matters, now: there's a constant numbness to his actions, his words, and he drifts apart from both Pieck and Zeke as they grow up, this time. He doesn't even mind that much.

Porco keeps track of the days, the months, the years before Reiner's return. He doesn't know why. He's stopped asking himself that a long time ago.

He refuses to eat Ymir and inherit the Jaw Titan.

There's talks of banishing his family from Liberio, sending them all immediately to Paradis. Porco doesn't care, he knows he'll be back after he dies, he knows that no one here really exists, that he's just killing time with made-up ghosts until his brain, or what's left of it, can't take it anymore and just stops.

They do just that. He never sees Reiner again, and he finds it saddens him deeply, as they shove the syringe in the back of his neck and kick him down the wall.

*

This time, Porco waits for Reiner.

There's a spark between them, as Porco offers him a soulless smile when he walks in his room. Reiner turns around startled, still scared, fresh trauma all over his features: though he doesn't shy away from Porco as he sits on the bed, right beside him.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, such simple words eliciting another kind of reaction from him – his eyes burn as he tries to bite back actual tears, something he's never been bothered with for quite some time. “Thank you for bringing Marcel back to me.”

Reiner's voice cracks, as he asks, “did you see his memories?”

Porco inhales deeply, and lies, a smirk playing on his lips as he says, “yeah, I did,” even though he didn't, not here. But he did, even if he didn't. He lied, but he didn't.

Nothing makes sense anymore, anyway. What does he care.

He's broken differently, not like Reiner, who's a sorry excuse of a human being right now: Porco feels like an empty shell, with everything he's seen and lived through, so many times.

Maybe that's why they gravitate towards each other, always in a different way, every single time Porco goes back and is born again.

They look for each other, both figuratively and physically: they're close, now, closer than they ever were. Not like friends, but they can coexist, openly admitting that they need each other to keep going, just a little longer.

Porco wonders every single day when all of this will be taken away from him, too.

They kiss the night before the festival, when the Tybur family is already staying at the most expensive hotel in the city, when Porco knows that the islanders have already made their plans, when Eren Jaeger is waiting, patiently, to wreak havoc on their hometown- even if Porco knows all of this, he still kisses Reiner back, melting into him, under his touch, hands running through hair and under formal clothes to stroke, touch, dig blunt nails into skin and muscles and leave long, red streaks on each other's back.

Porco loses himself in the feeling, he keeps Reiner close in every waking moment. He can never let go of him- he's the only constant in this endless loop, the only presence that morphs and changes and behaves like actual _life_ around Porco, something he's missed for so, so long.

He doesn't see the signals until it's too late.

He can't walk in Reiner's room. He'll leave it to the people in charge of cleaning up. That's how they call it, the cleaning up.

He should have known he'd kept a loaded rifle in his room. He should have known.

He knows everything, but it's still nothing.

*

A tree, made of light, that glows in the distance.

Reiner is a bit thinner, now. He looks older: the curse is drawing near. Porco smirks, soulless, at the thought.

“You did it,” he quips, his own voice unknown to his ears. Reiner offers him a lopsided grin, eyes shining with unshed tears.

“Yeah, I did,” he whispers, as if it were a secret, just like they whispered countless things to each other countless times, in countless lives, and Porco remembers all of them.

He's not sure what he _did_ , this time- stop the Rumbling? Kill Eren Jaeger? Find peace in death? He's not sure. He doesn't know anything, after all.

Reiner's hand finds his forearm, his wrist, then their fingers lace together.

So, something's stuck, after all.

Porco doesn't remember the last time he cried.

“I'm here, now,” says Reiner, and Porco wonders- how will things change, next time? How will he surprise him?

He closes the distance between them.

He can't wait to know.


	4. 04 - red string of fate AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 04 - red string of fate - destined to be together, tied by an invisible red thread  
> [canon major character death]
> 
> maybe one day i'll write a non-angsty au

Word has it that Eldians, or at least some of them, can see _it_ once they turn thirteen: a fleeting vision out of the corner of their eye, like a passing thought, a trick of the light.

Some would say they do it to toy with others, as if the weight of their ancestors' sins wasn't enough; and some, despite what they tell themselves, want to believe in what it is they see. Nothing is more fascinating and controversial than fate, truly.

“It's thin, like, impossibly thin, so much that you can almost forget you've ever seen it. But it does exist, if you're interested.”

Pieck lets out a not-very-enthusiastic _ooh_ at Zeke's words, and he scoffs, scratching at his ear. “I thought you'd want to know more about that, am I wrong?”

“Terribly so. I'm not interested in fate at the moment,” she replies, offering Zeke a cordial smile without actually looking at him.

“Oh, my bad then,” he shoots back, hiding his disappointment with an easy, charming laugh.

Porco sighs. Zeke's been bringing up the red string an awful lot, lately: so much for not caring about it, as he put it when he first saw it, tied around his grandparents' wrists.

“Did you see it on someone else, too? It's all you talk about,” he shoots then, catching Zeke's attention- and there's a glint of something in his eye, though it's barely noticeable, frustratingly shielded by his glasses.

“Oh, I could have, who knows?” he sighs, stretching his arms, gaze not meeting Porco's. “I'm just trying to make some conversation. It's become boring to hang out with you two lately, all you do is sulk and keep to yourselves.”

“Go read a book then,” snorts Porco, irritation showing on his face, eyebrows drawn together and clenched jaw and all. Zeke's always been peculiar, sure, but ever since he came back from the island he's become outright insufferable.

He's one of the few people who can see _it_ clearly, tied around someone's wrist, its other end either tied to someone else's, or broken, or still waiting for the moment they'll meet. The damn red string of fate that supposedly ties people together for eternity, something so stupid that Porco can't even begin to be bothered by it.

*

He first notices it when Reiner interrupts him in Zeke's room, during their briefing after coming back from Fort Slava, right before he can voice his doubts aloud: Zeke is looking between the two of them, his expression unreadable, gaze set on the center of the table. Porco notices his eyes are focused, he can't be spacing out at a time like this after all, can he?

The conversation resumes as if nothing happened, but Zeke keeps throwing glances at the center of the table, following an invisible path towards Porco and then going back. He does it at least three times, if Porco is not mistaken.

“Do I have something on my jacket?” asks Porco out loud, eventually, after they've been dismissed and everyone else is walking out of the room already. “You keep staring at me like I've spilled your damn tea all over myself.”

“You don't even drink tea though, do you?” Zeke challenges him, an easy smile on his face, and Porco rolls his eyes. “You've got potential for being a coffee enthusiast, though, if you don't care about healthy sleeping patterns and all.”

“Very funny. Just tell me what you were looking at.”

There's hesitation, clear as day, in Zeke's features: he opens his mouth to speak, but he says nothing, and he shuts it in a heartbeat, as if he stopped himself just short of revealing something he's not supposed to.

“Nothing you should worry about,” is what he settles for, turning around to gather random reports in a single pile. “The officers want me to keep an eye on all of you, you know how it is. I'm just doing what they ask me.”

“You mean what they order you to do,” Porco corrects him, and Zeke turns around maybe a bit too sharply, clicking his tongue loudly.

“Yes, that is their job. They order us around. Now go write your report before it's too late to turn it in.”

Feeling more and more like he's being scolded for whatever it is he's done, Porco sighs in annoyance and turns around, making a point of slamming the door shut.

*

The more time passes, the more betrayal stings: Porco knows it, perhaps too well. It's only natural to cling to another figure after it happens, and that's why he doesn't brush off everything Reiner says, not as frequently as he used to at least.

It's not that he's older or anything, he was just born a few months before him. Perhaps it's the stubble, his hair longer, him being the tallest out of them, the closest to the end of his term: now that Zeke has gone and betrayed them, Porco finds himself drawn more and more towards Reiner, no matter what he did back then. It's as if Porco couldn't see his reasons as clearly as before.

He puts it aside for now: they're on a mission, Pieck is listening intently to Reiner, who's explaining how they should behave to blend in on the island, and he knows so much, his voice a low, pleasant rumble that makes Porco feel almost sleepy with comfort and a certain kind of weariness, the one you welcome after a long day away from home.

Something's changed between them, after Zeke's betrayal and, most importantly, after Reiner put his life on the line just to save Porco from being eaten. That is a fact, something Porco can't brush aside... he only wishes he did that for Marcel, too, back then.

He wonders what stopped Reiner from protecting everyone as he was supposed to, for acting like the 'shield of Marley', a title that he's earned after coming back and tackling missions without resting just to prove himself.

(Maybe they were all too young?)

He never wonders about that anymore. The mission takes priority. Avenging everyone else is a priority.

Reiner is not a priority, he thinks, nodding to himself, as his gaze trips on Reiner's blond, thick eyelashes, his pronounced cheekbones, his plump, defined lips.

(Maybe with what little time they've got left to live, they should embrace their feelings before it's too late, now matter how little sense they make?)

Most definitely not.

*

Word has it that Eldians, or at least some of them, can see _it_ once they turn thirteen: a fleeting vision out of the corner of their eye, like a passing thought, a trick of the light.

Porco and Reiner are both twenty-one when they spot it- fleeting, hazy, but they both see it, and they know the other's seen it: a red thread, strong and vibrant and alive, tied around both their wrists, their Titans' wrists.

For no reason at all, Porco is reminded of when Zeke kept staring at something on the table between them, during that briefing, before everything started.

 _Oh,_ he thinks, almost falling forward, his legs shaking, his body weak, unable to heal completely. _So that's what it was._

Falco's mindless Titan stops gnawing at the Armored's nape, his attention now fully on Porco, who stops in his tracks, now shaking all over- and it's not fair, _come on_ , he knows what's going to happen now, after having seen Marcel's memories, after having seen that, the damn red thread of fate.

He only wishes he'd seen both of those things sooner- he remembers, again, for no reason, when Reiner covered for him during that same briefing, the low rumble of his voice, his eyelashes, again. Those damn eyelashes. He wishes he'd seen them up close.

Porco opens his mouth to speak, and he knows that Reiner knows already what's about to happen, and Falco's Titan is very fast.

The thread snaps.


	5. 05 - converging timelines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> happy birthday porco :*
> 
> 05 - converging timelines  
> [major character death, suicide ideation and execution, gore, trippy descriptions, memory loss, good luck reading this, etc]

His name, spoken, a shout- piercing through the night, on the island, running past the wrecked houses, the steam, the ashes, the smell of decomposing Titan matter, the taste of blood on his tongue.

_Who is Christa?,_ he wonders, as a girl's voice, brash and sarcastic, calls for her somewhere in his mind. It's Ymir, he thinks then, but- who is Ymir? And why is his head bleeding? He can't see from one eye.

There's so much blood, and three Titans are fighting with each other. He doesn't know them, they all look the same to him. Sharp pain- again, Christa, and- _happy fifteenth birthday, I guess,_ but wait, he's not fifteen, he hasn't been for a long time.

...but he's twelve, isn't he? Marcel just left, and he's sad.

No, he didn't. He's left long ago. Now he's dead.

But he can't be dead for real- can he? He doesn't remember, but he does- one of the Titans reaches for him, he knows already what's about to happen, he's receiving his memories, Marcel's memories; and-

*

Purple petals are scattered all over the floor.

He didn't even hear anything, he just knew: that's why he's not surprised to see the opposite wall covered in blood and brain matter, and _him_ still sitting in the chair, body tilted to one side awkwardly, mouth blown open- and a waterfall of crumpled, bloody petals sticking to his bloodied neck and floating gently out of his lips.

Porco shakes his head: he wonders which reaction he should have. He's seen this already, but the flowers are unfamiliar. He's seen countless variations of it, everything that ever happened, but not this. Never this.

He steps gingerly in the large pool of blood at his feet, grabs the rifle from the corpse's dead grasp, and-

*

He stretches leisurely, back arching and relaxing, then rolls to the side and nuzzles his face into the crook of Porco's neck.

“Do you really have to go?” he murmurs, his voice booming from the depths of his chest, even if he's whispering. His lips stroke the defined line of his shoulder, kissing warm skin, inhaling his scent as he adds, “can't you just call in sick and stay here with me?”

Porco swallows thickly.

Where is he. Why are they in bed. What bed is this, even. Call in sick? For what?

“What do you mean,” exhales Porco then, voice shaking as those lips travel lower, down his bicep, tracing the curve of the muscle there.

“I just want to spend some time with you,” he explains, “just the two of us. All alone,” he adds then, following an invisible path along Porco's forearm as he holds it up, “for as long as you want.”

He emphasises that last sentence with an open-mouthed kiss on the inside of Porco's wrist, and a look- a look Porco could never forget.

There's so much noise outside, and the room is weird, full of paintings on the walls and something hanging from the ceiling that he doesn't recognise- Porco's bottom lip quivers, he thinks of amber eyes as he shuts his own, and-

*

“Found you.”

It's a bright, low sunset, and Porco raises a hand to shield his eyes from it as he snorts, “what?”

The figure standing in front of him snorts back, almost mockingly, but doesn't budge. “I found you, just like you asked.”

Porco is about to snort, again, but a fleeting thought dances behind his forehead as he cocks his head to the side. “Huh. When did I ever ask that?”

The man doesn't answer immediately, and Porco closes his eyes, irritated by the orange light that bathes the courtyard with the last of its strength.

“You don't remember,” he murmurs, his voice low down his throat. “You don't remember me, then.”

This time, Porco laughs. “Sorry, but who are you? You're not making any sense. Do you need something?”

Again, no answer- then Porco lowers his hand, and the man is gone.

*

“Why is this happening?”

Nobody could answer that question, because the thread's snapped, and he's lying there, lifeless, in Porco's arms. The red thread snapped, Porco saw it clearly.

“I don't understand,” he sobs, the insides of his throat burning up. “I keep waking up somewhere different, every single time, but you- you're always there.”

Blond hair, speckled with fresh blood, an open wound at the back of his head- he's seen this one already, too. There was no red thread back then, just flowers, floating off his parted lips.

“I don't even know who you are,” croaks Porco, now openly crying, his knees digging into sand, “but you're always with me, every single time. I don't know your name, but I _know_ you- I've seen all this already, but I haven't. I don't fucking know.”

There's only endless plains of sand around them, the darkest sky Porco's ever seen, starless, looming above. This place is familiar, too.

“I'm starting to forget who I am,” he reveals, his voice echoing in the absolute nothingness. No answer from the corpse. “I don't even care. I wish I remembered something- anything, about you.”

More blood gushes out of the corpse's head, splattering all over Porco's coat- a green coat, where did he get that? “I feel like I hate you, but... I don't know. We're bound by something, maybe.”

Porco eyes the red, thin thread lying from his wrist, snapped with violence. “I couldn't really hate you, I think. That's why I always see you.”

A strong wind starts blowing, carrying with it the scent of flowers, of damp, barely sweaty skin- the taste of warm kisses on his lips. Porco finds himself missing something he's never even known, or seen, or tasted: it fills him with dread and sadness, and his back gives out- he curls up on himself, shielding the corpse he's holding, cradling it like a newborn baby.

“I wonder where I'll see you next,” he breathes, and it's barely there, a hint of spoken word that nobody could hear. “But promise me you're not going to die again.”

Again? He's only seen it happen once- did he?

His memory is playing tricks on him. Somehow, it doesn't feel like the first time.

“Please,” he sobs, now, his hands shaking violently as he cups the corpse's jaw and looks at his face, though the tears make it impossible to make out his features. “Please, find me again.”

Eventually, time matters no more.

*

Amber eyes- big, wide, beautiful, with specks of brown and hazel scattered here and there. He's already seen them once, somewhere: he remembers the wiry, thin pattern of the iris there.

Porco can feel it all at once- the itch where his own name is scribbled, on his skin, a promise of a soulmate; the thin, red thread pulling at his wrist; the smell of purple hyacints; phantom memories of living a thousand lives over and over again. He can read it all in those eyes, in the straight, composed line of those shoulders, on those lips that he kissed, once and twice and a hundred times.

“Galliard,” says Reiner. That's how he greets him, in the morning.

“Braun,” says Porco. That's how he greets him, in the morning, too.

For all the lives in which they chased each other, in which they fought and lost and got back up again- for all the lives in which they _loved_ each other, this is what they get. A reality that never ends, where such things could never happen.

He doesn't know if Reiner remembers, too, how much they loved each other once and twice and thrice and a thousand times, for a thousand lives. There's no way to know, no way to ask. The only option is to move forward.

They walk together along the corridor, red armbands on their left sleeve, a frown on their faces, unspoken memories clenched around their hearts- a mirror of each other's desperation and loneliness.

Going around in circles, always meeting when it's too late, like satellites of a faraway planet.

*

“I think I loved you.”

“Did you?”

“Yeah. For various reasons.”

“Makes sense.”

“That, it does.”

“I loved you too, you know.”

“I know.”

“...I'm glad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this is it! happy birthday to porco again (and to me even if mine was on the 10th :D )  
> hope you enjoyed this <3 stay tuned bc i've got a nice little treat for you all come december
> 
> good morning/day/afternoon/night wherever you are, and take care :*


End file.
